


Decisions

by astra_romaine



Series: Sent by Gods (working title) [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Sparring, Talking, laughing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astra_romaine/pseuds/astra_romaine
Summary: They've accepted that they're stuck with the Herald. That means something needs to be done about her. She can't be left to her own devices, so what do they do? Cassandra decides she'll take it upon herself to teach the Herald how to fight. Cullen can't stand listening to her do it wrong though.
Series: Sent by Gods (working title) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813630
Kudos: 3





	Decisions

Keeping track of the Herald was hard. She had lots of practice making herself invisible and did not enjoy when anyone spoke to her- despite how many times Leliana and Josephine had tried. She needed a purpose, according to Cullen, but where was that supposed to come from? Cassandra pursed her lips at their circular arguments.

“What are we supposed to do with her?” Cullen whispered, “She disappears to Maker knows where all day and we’re supposed to just accept that?”

“No,” Cassandra answered, “But we cannot lock her up again.”

They looked towards where Varric was sitting with Irian. Cassandra had mentioned that Irian couldn’t read Common, so Varric offered to teach her. The two were scratching the alphabet over and over in the dirt with sticks.

Josephine turned her head back to the conversation, “Why not apprentice her? Make her useful?”

“Would you like to have her?”

“Not exactly… She doesn’t seem like she would do well with nobility…”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Solas looked up from a book and voiced his thought. “Why not give her to Master Adan?” he suggested, “He is the only one who seems to like her.”

“Maker,” Cullen exclaimed, “Master _Adan_ likes her? He doesn’t like anyone! And she’s-”

“She found Taigen’s old notes.”

“Why was she snooping around?” Leliana mused, “Perhaps I should be the one to keep an eye on her, and maybe get an agent out of it.”

“She had to have done _something_ in Tevinter,” Josephine said, “Why not figure out what that was and leave her to it?”

“I do not think it will be so simple.” Cassandra turned and walked towards Irian and Varric.

Varric was smiling and pointing to something while Irian dug the stick deep into the dirt. If she ever used that kind of pressure on parchment, she would tear a hole in it. What a waste.

“Look, Cassandra!” The girl said, smiling, “I wrote that! Can you read it?”

Cassandra glanced at the ground. She had written her name. Cute.

“Come with me.” Cassandra picked Irian up by her elbow and dragged her over to the other advisors. She stumbled behind Cassandra as she thanked Varric for helping her and tried to keep pace with the warrior’s long, quick strides.

“We are deciding how you will serve the Inquisition,” Cassandra stated, “You are required for that.”

Irian nodded. “I’m not useless,” she promised.

“What tasks can you do, Irian?” Josephine asked.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine with anything you give me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Cullen muttered.

Leliana hummed over him. “I have received a letter that might affect this choice.” Irian’s eyes briefly flashed fear. Cassandra frowned as Leliana continued. “Mother Giselle, near Redcliffe, wishes to speak with the Herald of Andraste.”

“Me? Does she know I’m…?”

“Yes,” Josephine replied, “We have had trouble containing any information about certain aspects of your… being.”

“The Hinterlands are not far,” Leliana said, “Perhaps a week, if we travel lightly. I will send myself, and scouts, ahead to search for the Revered Mother.”

“And I will take you,” Cassandra turned to Irian.

“We can use this opportunity to expand our influence,” Cullen said, “Look for other ways to recruit soldiers, Seeker.”

“And perhaps secure some other assets, “Josephine said, nodding.

“So not much to do, then?” Irian joked.

Cassandra frowned; this was serious. “The only problem left is you, Irian.”

“Why not put me in armour?” Irian glanced at a soldier nearby. “Then I don’t have to be defenceless. Or a mage.”

“You don’t expect us to give you a sword?” Cullen chuckled.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Cassandra announced, and surprised even herself. “I have vouched for you, Irian, so I will teach you.”

* * *

Irian swung the sword at the practice dummy again. Maker, it was heavy, hadn’t she built _any_ muscle? She wound up for another blow against it. _Thwack._ Weak. And her feet were wrong. Where had Cassandra put hers? One foot slightly forward, and they were shoulder’s width apart- was that right?

Everything the warrior did was sped up, and Irian barely had the vocabulary to understand what she said. Whenever they trained, it usually ended with an irritated Cassandra leaving in a huff. A very frustrated huff.

And then Irian was alone to sort out whatever had just happened.

She thrust the sword at the dummy, but Cassandra said swords were _not for stabbing_ , they were for _slashing._ What the fuck was the difference? Was some demon going to critique her sword usage? _No, no, Irian, I’m afraid you can’t kill me and close this rift unless you use the proper technique._

It seemed the Inquisition’s leadership had decided Irian was not allowed to talk to anyone outside of those she had already met. That meant Cassandra oversaw everything she did the past few days. And probably forever.

At least Cassandra’s swordsmanship lessons were better than when she tried to teach Irian to read. Cassandra had picked some giant stupid book about Orlesian cities even though Irian didn’t know what an ‘Orlesian’ was until Cassandra explained it. Why couldn’t Varric teach her again?

Irian threw the blade over her shoulder and brought it down as hard as she could on the dummy. Cassandra’s hits made the whole pole shake.

Stupid swords- _thwack_ \- stupid Cassandra- _thwack_ \- and stupid Orlesians- _thwack_.

“Is that your sword?”

_Shit._

“Yes, Ser,” Irian twisted away from the dummy and bowed to the Commander, “Er, it belongs to Lady Cassandra, but she said I could- I swear I did not steal-”

“No, I didn’t mean that,” the man rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I just meant- it’s rather off balanced for you.”

“You would certainly know better than me, Ser.”

“I- uhm- do you want me to show you how to use it?”

What was this? The Templar lapdog wanted to butcher her in practice? Tsk, what a _tragedy_ that Irian was so _clumsy_ and impaled _herself_ on his sword. She wouldn’t fall for it.

“The Seeker is very specific in her instruction,” Irian said curtly.

The Commander laughed, “I’ve heard her ‘instruction.’ It sounds like a lot of yelling.” He held out a smaller sword, the handle towards Irian. “Do you want to try this one?”

He was giving her a weapon? Didn’t he know what little elves did with weapons? Wasn’t he afraid she would plunge it into his neck while he slept? Of course, she wouldn’t- Cassandra had taught her to _slash._

“Take it,” he instructed, “Cassandra is a lot bigger than you; her sword won’t do much for learning.”

Irian reached out hesitantly and- oh, very funny, the sword was made of wood. What a fun little prank to play on the stupid Tevinter who can’t read and can’t-

“It’s a practice sword,” he explained, “That’s why it’s made of wood.”

Had he read her mind? Fuck, southern templars were weird.

“And what use is a wooden sword, Master Rutherford?” Irian asked.

The Commander smiled and drew his own practice blade, “It hurts a lot less. And you can just call me ‘Cullen.’ Let’s see you swing.”

Irian pursed her lips. The Commander- Cullen- had taken a defensive stance and was waiting for her. Was she just supposed to swing? Okay, one foot forward, knees bent-

“Too long,” Cullen said as he threw himself at her.

“Fuck!” she shrieked and jumped to the side. He _was_ trying to kill her?

“Good dodge,” he smiled, “Most people try to block. Go again, but don’t wait so long before you attack.”

Irian narrowed her eyes against the glare of the evening sun. He was getting ready to lunge at her again, so she swiped- no, slashed- upwards and he caught her sword against his own. _Crack!_ That was certainly more pleasing than a stuffed dummy mounted on a stake.

“Look at you,” Cullen remarked, “You already have an advantage.”

“Yeah? Care to enlighten me?”

“You’re left-handed. Everyone gets practice blocking a right-handed opponent, so you’ll be fine, but fewer swordsmen have practice against a left-handed swing, so your enemies will be less fine.”

Irian chuckled, “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes,” he replied with a laugh, “Here, go slow and I’ll show you how to block.”

“You told me not to move slow.”

“That I did.”

She grinned at him. Maker, she felt like she was back at the university, but instead of flexing her knowledge with other students she was literally flexing her muscles. Cullen was good at dissecting his movements, and the slow, exaggerated demonstrations made it easier to follow. There was a reason he was training the recruits while Cassandra angrily destroyed bags of stuffing.

“You’re light on your feet, keeps you free to move anywhere the battle demands- unpredictable,” Cullen panted and leapt towards her.

“That’s a nice way of saying I’m underfed-” She countered the blow “-and erratic?”

“In so many words.”

Irian twisted and smacked her sword into his side.

“Nice hit!” He congratulated and jogged it off.

Irian tried to shake the smile from her face, “You let me do that.”

“I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” she laughed, “Or I think we need a new Commander.”

Cullen smiled at her and circled back in front. He didn’t look so scary when he smiled, or when he was holding a shitty little wooden sword instead of his regular one.

* * *

“Do you- uh- have you had dinner yet?” Cullen asked once they had traded a few more blows. She shook her head. “Do you want to get some? With me?”

Irian raised her chin, “You’re not afraid of me going crazy?”

“Er, no. No. Should I be?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ then? Irian?”

“Okay,” Irian said, then awkwardly added, “Cullen.”

They walked side by side through the main gate into Haven and threaded their way through the bustling beginnings of the Inquisition.

“So, you’re from Qarinus?” Cullen asked.

“Uh- yeah, why?”

“What’s it like there?”

“Umm,” She stopped walking to think and scrunched up her face, “It’s called a ‘port’ I think. Yeah, it’s a port city. With a lot of ships and people that go on ships- sailors.”

“Uh huh,” Cullen said.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m from Fereldan, but I came here from Kirkwall, have you heard of it?”

“Yeah,” She breathed, “I’ve heard of it. Emerius, ‘urbs in vincula,’ or whatever. Free Marches, right?”

Cullen nodded. “It’s a port city, too.” Irian opened the door to the tavern and waited for him to walk in. He felt awkward going first but went through anyways.

“So where did you grow up?” Cullen asked.

Irian stared confusedly at him. “Qarinus.”

“Right, but Qarinus is big isn’t it? Where?”

“Oh, uh, mostly on a farm, I guess.”

“Mostly?” Cullen pointed to a table and left to grab a plate. He came back with a pile of meat and a few roasted vegetables. “We can share?” he asked. Irian shrugged. “Tell me about the farm.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “I don’t remember anything from when I was really young- I think I spent most of that time in the Market? But the first master I had for most of my life lived on an estate in the Upper Districts of Qarinus. I tended his gardens in the cold months and then he contracted most of his slaves out to farms during the harvest months. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Cullen swallowed. He felt uncomfortable.

“I didn’t think mages were kept in- kept as…”

“Slaves?”

“Er, yes.”

“They’re not. But most people don’t know they’re a mage until they’re older.”

“When did you know?”

“When I was six and ten.”

“Six and- you mean sixteen? That’s late.” Cullen relaxed and started to pick at the food in between them. Irian pulled off a piece of meat.

“Well, that’s my early life,” Irian said, “What about you? What entertained the young Master Rutherford?”

“I grew up in Honnleath- that’s south of here, and southwest of Redcliffe. If that means anything to you.”

Irian shook her head and said good-humouredly, “It does not.”

Cullen smiled, “Well, I grew up on a farm too, but it wasn’t a big one. I always wanted to be a templar when I was younger.”

“Tell me about that,” Irian said around a mouthful of food, “You said you thought templars could close the Breach, but how would that work? Aren’t they just glorified soldiers?”

“We’re- They’re a bit more than that,” Cullen frowned, “They have abilities, they can suppress magic safely.”

“So, southern templars are actually mages?”

“I- No, Maker, why would you say that?”

“How can a templar suppress magic?”

“From lyrium- that’s what gives them their abilities. Can templars not do that in Tevinter?”

“No.” Irian scooted closer, like she was interested in what he said. “How can a non-mage handle ingesting lyrium? It makes me feel weird and I’m- well, I’m a mage.”

“It can be hard, and many do not leave the Order because of it. I suppose we handle it the same way most people handle their struggles: through faith.”

“Faith? Does your faith require you to make vows? ‘I will blindly serve the Maker for the rest of my life’ or something?”

Cullen smiled, “There’s a vigil, first, then your first draught of lyrium. We give ourselves to the Maker, but it shouldn’t be blindly.”

“Mm,” Irian paused, “And what about sex?”

Cullen choked on his wine. “Maker’s breath, why would you ask that?” he coughed.

“Sorry, too forward?” Irian giggled, “It’s one of the tests for deciding whether or not you’re in a cult.”

“The templars are not a cult!” Cullen felt himself giggling too, though. “What are the other tests?”

“Uh, well they can’t restrict your intimacy- cults always make you feel ashamed about sex- and they can’t be senselessly nationalistic or chasing some long-lost honour for their countrymen. People who want to restore the past are generally not great people to follow. And religion is usually a bad sign.”

“What do you think of the Inquisition, then?” Cullen asked, “Is it a cult?”

“I haven’t decided,” Irian said honestly and turned her head mischievously, “It’s not doing too well on the religion-front though.”

Cullen laughed again, “I take it you don’t believe in the Maker, Herald of Andraste?”

“You’ll be surprised to find out that I am devout, actually.”

“Oh,” he said, “I am surprised, you’re an elf.”

“Yeah, the Maker is kind of racist towards us, most elves up there just ignore that.”

“You ignore that? So, you aren’t really Andrastian, then, because you ignore stuff.”

“I am so,” Irian defended, “It’s not like you people don’t pick and choose with _your_ religion. You don’t seem to acknowledge Hessarian and the Canticle of Shartan is- what’s the word? Dissonant?”

“I suppose that’s… fair,” Cullen said, “What else is different? You have your own Divine, right?”

“Yes, and we don’t think Andraste is holy. So, this ‘Herald of Andraste’ nonsense? Way less terrifying when she was just a normal person.”

“I thought she was a mage in Tevinter?”

Irian nodded, “And that line? ‘Magic exists to serve?’ Horse shit-” she leaned forward as if she was telling Cullen a secret “-people think it means mages should be in control, but I’m a mage, and I’m doing a lot more ‘serving’ than the Archon,” she smirked and rolled her lips together, then frowned and awkwardly added, “Long may he reign.”

Cullen laughed and felt a little embarrassed. He shouldn’t have been so rude to her. Part of coming to the Inquisition was getting a fresh start- and that meant letting go of his hatred towards mages. She was nice, and funny. Why had he been so scared? So unwilling to talk to her? Just because she was different?

“What animal is this?” Irian asked, poking at the meat.

“Uh, it’s a fennec.”

“And ‘fennec’ is the…?”

“The little foxes?”

Irian gasped, “But they’re so cute! Oh, shit.” She didn’t stop eating though, so it must not have actually bothered her.

“What happened when you found out you were a mage?” Cullen asked as he speared a potato.

“Oh, I was sold to someone in Vyrantium- well, he was from Qarinus, but he was finishing up a professorship at the Circle. That was where I studied for a few years.”

“Studied? Is that where you learned the Trade tongue?”

Irian nodded, “Yes, but I learned it in a scholarly context, so I can say words like ‘electromagnetism,’ but I have trouble with regular conversation.”

“What’s… that?”

“My research was working with magnets and the effects primal magic had on them. One of the most interesting phenomena we encountered was the relationship between electricity and the magnets. Turns out, a changing magnetic field can induce electric currents and then those currents induce their own magnetic field that opposes the original one. Isn’t that cool?”

Cullen stared blankly at her. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Oh- it’s- uh, it’s… Maybe I can’t do this in Common, sorry.”

“You aren’t anything like what I expected,” Cullen declared.

“Of course not,” Irian said, “You expected some slack-jawed yokel, no doubt?”

Cullen blushed, “Er, no- forget I said anything.”

“It’s alright, Commander. Tevinter is very careful about the image its slaves have.”

He looked at the table, “I guess I never thought we would have anything in common.”

“No,” Irian agreed, “No one does. That’s the problem with the Altus in Tevinter: they’re afraid of having anything in common with us. They aren’t evil, not completely at least, so they have to make sure that we’re seen as animals- that way they can justify treating us like shit without losing sleep.”

“Can I ask you something else?” Cullen said.

Irian shrugged, “I suppose.”

“Do you hate Tevinter?”

“That would be as stupid as loving it. Do you hate mages?”

Cullen felt his face heat up. “That would be as stupid as loving one.”


End file.
